


Lord Henry likes ponds a Lot

by Leninouche



Category: Dorian Gray - Fandom, The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Dorian Gray - Freeform, Found in Dorian Gray‘s diary, GASP!, Inspired by an Animal Crossing screenshot, Mysterious, a SHOCKING theory, basil hallward - Freeform, henry wotton - Freeform, is lord henry what he appears to be?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 08:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20636435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leninouche/pseuds/Leninouche
Summary: Dorian has a theory that needs proof, later he regrets his life choices. Taken from his diary, which he‘d be delighted to know people are snooping around in, probably.Now the question is: Is Lord Henry a frog?





	Lord Henry likes ponds a Lot

**Author's Note:**

> My only regret remains that Ao3 does not support the use of Comic Sans.

Taken From Dorian Gray‘s Diary

Lord Henry Wotton, my closest, you might call it friend, you might call it teacher, you might call it corrupter, whatever, always seemed curious to me, even outlandish. Mankind‘s troubled seemed to slide off his (incredibly smooth) skin, leaving no traces whatsoever, excepting Lady Age‘s whispers which sooner or later charm everybody to death. Almost. (Hehe)  
There was something alien to Henry always, he was the most human person I have ever known yet precisely that was what roused my suspicions, for he was almost too human. I took his removedness for farce and defensiveness at first until one day, we were walking in the garden, a Lady tripped and fell beneath a cart and Henry, so keen on any sort of sensation usually, stood apart, staring at a magnificent rosebud, or rather at the hideous fly crawling betwixt its crimson petals. Was not that weird, that Henry would concentrate on something so unnecessarily ugly when nearby a proper tragedy occured?  
Three weeks lie now between this incident and today and only now I get to write everything down because, in retrospect, does it not all seem horribly foolish and impossible, fit only for a mesmerizing story saved for the dinner table? Indeed, my fancy must have gotten the best of me, edged on by the promise of intrigue amidst the haze of dreary life. Basil did not seem overly interested in my story so now, dearest diary, let me confide in you this strangest of tales.  
Yes, Lord Henry seemed too human to me, and I would know because, well, I‘m somewhat of a human-expert myself. My companion moved through society with the ease of a professor, knowledgeable in his subject through years of study. He could guess which remarks sparked laughter, and which words soothed nerves, or aroused them. His talk was immaculate, as I have had the pleasure of witnessing first-hand, his manners impeccable, his style too polished for someone living in the midst of English fashion without any possibility of perspective. He was like the perfect knight of a medieval romance, that could not possibly have been written during the dark ages themselves, for everything cruel would become dramatic, everything kind would turn heroic, and every appearance of moral standards would be turned into a lecture, in a way only historians know how to do. No, Lord Henry was decidedly something else than an English Gentleman, and because of my own, peculiar dilemma, I naturally saw no fault in the possibility of his being a sort of time-traverser or something of that kind. And so I was set on making enquiries. A whole week I spent interviewing my fellow boys, the occasional woman as well although they all too-readily guessed at my motifs and turned the whole thing into a three-volume-novel sort of story. It was hideous. With my sharp senses all set on Henry I observed things hitherto unnoticed. Let me elaborate:  
Throughout my marvellous life I adopted the manner of pacing whenever my thoughts would be piqued with a new thought or a new melody to add to this greatest of symphonies my life presents. Lord Henry, usually lounging on his divan, smoking one cigarette after the other (even though he preferred the water-pipe), tended to watch me curiously and sharply, his interesting eyes, which I will talk about in detail later, set on my fine physique. Naturally I assumed he simply marvelled at my form, which, might I add modestly, is very Greek and ideal in that, but as soon as I stopped moving, his interest would subside immediately. I observed this numerable times, the visual arts consequently held no allure for Henry, as much as he pretended otherwise, he could scarcely look at the Mona Lisa for more than a moment (that was when we were in Paris together, afterwards he bought me a fancy dinner and we watched the sun set in the Seine…).  
Secondly. His eyes. His eyes were, upon first observation, as fine as crystals buried beneath the Alpes. The fine green, almost yellow, matches his teint remarkably well and a streak of gold passes through the top-right corner of his right iris, like a captured sunbeam… (I observed them in detail for purely scientific reasons.) At times, however, especially whenever he watches something or someone with acute interest, slipping into a trance-like state good art will sometimes conjure, his eyes seem to grow larger, the yellow becomes more piercing and sometimes- it is true! He would cease blinking altogether! Basil once recalled initiating a sort of contest, determining who would follow the urge to blink the first, and Henry allegedly did not blink once for the remainder of the day! Although Basil is convinced our dear friend merely aimed at proving his superiority in those matters.  
But not only the eyes were intriguing, Henry‘s skin proved a marvel in itself. Over the course of our relationship I faced numerous occasions on which to feel his skin and everytime I would be alienated by its impeccable smooth- and at the same time- dryness. Almost… snake-like, I would joke to him, earning a wonderful laugh. Yet, it is the most curious thing. It is so paper-thin and white that his palms show every greenish vein, every vessel of blood. Holding them is most peculiar. Which I would naturally not do often, almost never in fact, rather seldomly. Henry does not like it in public.  
Added to this peculiar behaviour and body-assets, Henry‘s abundant interest in insects and ponds became a rather mystifying affair. Initially, on our first meeting (when our caprice started), he would watch the flowers in Basil‘s garden so intently that I assumed they formed part of his ideal of beauty. Aside from water lilies however, I came to realize that it was not the flowers my friend was interested in, but the insects swarming between them.  
Then yesterday, the day it all came to an end, when he took me to the botanical garden, it was impossible to drag him away from the colony of flies they had just installed in the latest greenhouse. I swear with all my heart, there was a sense of hunger in Henry‘s beautiful eyes, hunger for knowledge, I wonder? What could fascinate him so about some little flying monsters? Later that day, it suddenly became clear. It all fell into place like the missing tiles of a great puzzle. We stood alone amongst the water plants, arms touching. The sun burst through the glass-panels above, tinging the world in a cascade of light, and illuminating Henry‘s hair wonderfully. I remember, I found the whole thing quite picturesque, and longed to drink it all in, when Henry interrupted my musings. He was contemplating a large water lilly leaf, idly floating before us in an artificial pond of quite oriental design.  
„My dear boy, wouldn‘t you agree, that between all this trouble that human life consists of, one would be infinitely happy upon such a leaf, just sitting there and watching the water and the sun?“  
I was quite dumbstruck by this revelation and my silence prompted him to look at my face. Was he startled by his own speech? It seemed thus. But I suddenly felt the answer to my speculations was right there, on my lips, and I believe he could see it too since he took a moment looking at them (as many people do, since they are quite soft and rose-leaf red, very remarkable. There‘s nothing strange with Henry looking at my lips. Nothing special. I‘m not disappointed by that!)  
„I know what you are!“, I heard myself say. His eyes darkened, rendering his expression a dashing darkness, which quite became him.  
After a pause he answered defeatedly.  
„Well, say it. I want to hear you say it.“  
I remember how clear and sure it all seemed to me then, how convinced I was of my own foolish ideas.  
„You are a frog!“  
Oh, how unpretty that was, as a joke it served me quite ill and transporting my ideas to another person only served in making them uninteresting to myself, and shewed me their ridiculousness. I burst into laughter, more out of shame than amusement for I felt quite droll. Henry looked at me strangely, but soon joined in, albeit somewhat uncertainly.  
And well, that concludes my endeavours of the past three months. Once more I was proven that reality‘s mysteries are mere fancies, and upon repeated inspection Henry‘s skin did not seem that strange after all. It was quite a boyish joke of me, I must admit, not my best work by far. And I reckon Henry agrees for he has been watching me intently today, no doubt hoping my comedic intelligence would be back. 

Toodles! dorian


End file.
